I looked at the waffles that sit upon my plate
And I feel a little shiver of hope
As I try, once more,
To prove myself wrong

I take the long and lean bottle
Of that surgery syrup
And hold my breath
As I gently pour them
On my breakfast

But, alas no!
For my dream is crushed
And I stare with big eyes
At the huge gloppy mess
That is stuck
Between a couple little boxes

And again I will try
To take my knife
And spread that sticky clump
And so the lonely boxes
Will also have some company
With the syrup

But the walls stop me
And the syrup seems to be trapped
Calling to me, asking for me to help it out
Of their prison

And I look sadly, for I know
There is no way I can help it
But even so, I will take a bite
And cringe when it is either
Too sugary or
Too dry, which is, unfortunately
Every single bite

Maybe tomorrow,
I will have pancakes.